Unable to refuse, I stood and took his offered hand. His other hand lifted before me, an elegant gesture an expert magician might use before pulling a bouquet of roses from within his sleeve. But Menessos’s intentions were not traditionally romantic. Instead, he removed my hand from his and positioned my arms so they were outstretched to either side. He fingered the bottom edges of my Superman shirt, rolling the fabric up. He bared my waist, pausing to touch my skin approvingly, before rolling the shirt up until my bra was exposed. With a word, he made me raise my arms up to allow him to pull the shirt free.
Physically, I complied without question. Mentally, inside my sealed Mason jar, I screamed to no avail.
My neatly rolled shirt dropped to the floor. His fingers glided over the lacy edge of the black bra before deftly unfastening the front clasp. Menessos removed and discarded my bra.
The exposure both horrified and thrilled me. Energy fluttered along my skin, stronger than ever before. My hands, still outstretched, turned palms up.
“Fire,” he whispered.
The biting power of fire raced over me, focusing on intimate places. I had an inkling now as to why some witches did their rituals naked—sky-clad, as they called it. It felt good.
Menessos sliced the tip of his finger open with his fang in a motion that looked more like he was dabbing at something at the corner of his mouth. Blood welled up. He licked the first drops away, savoring them, then reached out to me.
My body flowed forward, spine bowing to arch toward him—if I took an actual step, I could not tell. His index finger touched my sternum between my breasts and sank lower, leaving a smear of his blood.
Nana’s voice joined that of my bottled anger, shouting at me, calling through the fog, insistent but ineffectual.
Beverley ran at Menessos, but Goliath grabbed her and restrained her gently but firmly.
Menessos added an oblong loop above the first mark and connected them with a crossbar under the loop. He spoke. I didn’t understand the words, but the rhythm and cadence complemented his masculine tone and mimicked the melody I’d been forced to sing.
Somehow, that melody connected us.
His powerful, dark eyes met mine and bored into me, reading my thoughts. And I knew his: he would not deny what he had done. Why should I? he seemed to ask.
He knew I was disgusted and horrified.
His answering expression could have been that of a warrior demanding information from me and warning me of the means of torture he could employ, or he could even have been Arthur ensconced in the passion that led to his fathering Mordred. I began to yield.
As his chant ended, the ankh he’d drawn on my skin began to glow.
It itched.
It burned.
It felt as if every cell of my skin under his bloody mark called to intangible pieces of my soul, pieces that answered readily only to be bound tight in the thick syrup of his blood. Retreating, those little pieces took the essence of him, sinking deep inside of me to hide in places even post-mortem medical examiners wouldn’t find.
Still the energy of fire nibbled at my bare skin, and sandy earth-energy scraped my flesh sore. Water offered buoyancy, but only in waves that left me feeling heavy as they ebbed. Air, the breath of life, seemed only to enhance the heat of fire and make it hotter.
I wanted to be naked. I wanted him to see me and touch me. I wanted to feel those elements caressing other parts of me.
A new chant met my ears, words I should know but didn’t. Nana shouted at Menessos and commanded him to stop.
Suddenly the bright spotlight of moonlight waned. The howls of four fully formed wolves overpowered all the other voices.
But I couldn’t look around, couldn’t respond to what was happening. My whole world had become focused on the vampire before me, on matching the beat of my heart exactly to his. I could feel each contraction of his heart like a lover’s caressing hand squeezing me. It was quixotic, eager, and indulgent. It was blessedly comforting.
Menessos cupped my face in both of his cold hands and drew me adoringly closer, as if I were the first bloom from a seed he’d planted himself and therefore deserved his loving scrutiny. The kiss I was surprised to find I wanted was a breath away when he spoke: “Tomorrow someone will come for the stake.” His voice resonated inside my head, whispered syllables heard distinctly despite the cacophony around us. “I have honored my oath to you, Persephone Alcmedi.” His hands slid around me as if he would dance with me, and mine conceded to hold him as well. He smelled like hot cinnamon and campfires; his body flowed against mine like a hot, urgent current of fresh magma.
He put his lips to mine in a kiss as fragile as the edge of a toasted marshmallow. I thought of that sticky, melted sweetness thick on my tongue—
My mouth opened to Menessos, and I discovered a new flavor. The savory tang was unlike anything I had known. It was the taste of orgasm, of falling in love, of finding El Dorado in your own backyard.
The sudden coldness of my lips made me realize that Menessos had pulled away. The expression he wore was a complex one. Mystified. Satisfied. Not smug—no, not smug. Yearning.
I touched his cheek. I felt an instant of sadness—the kind of deep, welling misery that brings sobs of grief in choking bouts rising from your throat in tight, painful gasps.
He jerked from my touch, effectively slamming the door on me. In that instant, his surprise was clear. He turned his back on me and stepped to the edge of the circle. With his bloody finger, he traced a rectangle in the air and said, “Open now the door.” He pushed the circle of energy open and passed through.
Goliath neatly stepped to the end of the bed and picked up the book. He slammed it shut with the translation page still inside. He paused only to assess my breasts, then followed Menessos through. Menessos made a move as if shutting the energy door and said, “Sealed again is the door.” He lifted Vivian, and the three of them left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I felt drunk, but without the cheerful buzz.
I must have stumbled, because suddenly I was in Nana’s arms. “I’ve got you,” she said.
Nana quoted the barest of quarter releases: “Thank you, elements of earth, air, fire, and water! We release you now. Go and be free. Come willingly if we call upon you again.” She stroked my hair. “If ever we dare to call again. This circle is open. Now slowly,” she said, “Beverley, ease toward the door. No sudden movements. Nice and slow.”
A silvery gray wolf leapt to the doorway and snarled a deep, primal, guttural sound. Beverley stopped dead; to her credit, she did not scream. The wolf was bigger than Ares would ever be. Its muzzle turned slightly upward at us, nostrils flaring and all those gleaming white canines revealed. Slowly, the animal hunched down, preparing to leap—
A larger black wolf leapt onto the gray wolf, snapping and growling vehemently at it. The gray sank onto the floor, head and tail low. It growled low. The black wolf stayed standing over the gray, and clamped the back of its neck with his jaws. He continued snarling viciously until the gray rolled over and showed its belly in submission. Then the black wolf released the other and turned, keeping itself between us and the gray wolf. With one bark he commanded the tawny amber-colored beast to join the gray. With the amber down beside the gray, the black wolf barked to the remaining black-and-gray on the bed—though to this one, the barks were softer.
The black-and-gray’s ears pricked forward, and it crawled to the edge of the mattress, pulling a length of IV tubing with it. It paused and sniffed at the tubing and whimpered. “Dr. Lincoln,” I said softly.
The doctor inched forward. He reached out to the slender foreleg, and the black-and-gray wolf snapped at him, sending him backpedaling with a shout of alarm. He hit the wall hard, and his glasses went crooked. The black wolf leapt a pace forward and growled at the black-and-gray, until the black-and-gray whined and put her head down. The black wolf looked at me.
“Did she get you, Doctor?” I asked.
With a jerk and
sudden realization of the danger he was in, the doctor righted his spectacles and checked himself over. “No. No, she didn’t.”
“I think she’s ready to let you remove it now.”
He pressed himself against the wall. “I’m not ready to risk being a wærewolf….” He swallowed so hard it must’ve hurt. “I mean, well…you know.”
I did know, but somebody had to do it. I pulled out of Nana’s grip and staggered to the bed.
Bracing myself against the side of the bed with slightly bent knees, I reached slowly to the wolf’s foreleg. When I gently gripped it, the black-and-gray wolf turned and looked at me steadily. There was no look of friendship or familiarity in those dark eyes, but I realized this was Theo. We’d succeeded! She’d fully transformed. If things had been normal, I might have cried from relief. I was so weary, though, I was too tired even to make tears. I pulled gently on the tape. It had been stuck to her human skin, but that flesh had split away and left the tape not exactly securing the IV anyway. Sliding the needle out was easier than I’d expected it to be. I dropped it onto the bed. Using the footboard as support, I put my weight on my feet again and stepped back.
The black wolf started making short, quiet howls again. The black-and-gray eased her forelegs down, then slid her haunches down as if it hurt.
The wolves needed to be safely kenneled in the cellar, and I had the thought the stairs were going to be difficult for the black-and-gray wolf. I inched forward. Nana grabbed my arms, thinking I was falling. “It’s okay,” I said. I moved along the footboard. I held my hand out to the black-and-gray wolf and said, “I can help you down the stairs.” She sniffed at my hand.
The black wolf came closer and put his shoulder against me and pushed me back. He turned to the other wolves then and barked an order. The gray and the amber stood and exited; the black-and-gray followed. The black one went last. I followed them to the door, grabbed my robe, and slipped clumsily into it as I watched them descend the steps. The black-and-gray wolf was steadied by the other two.
At the bottom, the front door stood open—thanks to a hurried exit by the vampires—and the wolves went out.
Feeling certain that the black wolf would herd the others to the cellar, I moved into the hall and started down the steps, grateful for the sturdy rail. Outside, the house supported me as I crossed the porch and went around the corner. There, three of the wolves lay in a row just beyond the cellar doors. The big black wolf stood before them, tail wagging.
I opened the door, and they all proceeded down and inside. I followed, wishing I could just stop and rest on the steps. If I stopped, I knew I wouldn’t get up again. Menessos had called too much energy out of me, left me so weak. But surely that had been the whole idea.
The black wolf put the gray and amber together in the first kennel. I shuffled over, shut the door, and clicked the lock shut. The black-and-gray went tiredly into the next kennel, lay down on the hay, and curled up. I stumbled, caught myself on the cage bars, then let my weak legs bend. On my knees, I shut and locked that door too. I turned to the black wolf. He stood resolutely at the far end, watching me. Head high, his weight distributed on all legs, he seemed like he was posing. He backed into his cage without taking his eyes from me.
I felt so drained. Darkness pushed at the edges of my vision. My limbs didn’t want to move. “I can’t,” I said.
The black wolf lowered his head, whimpered once. With a big paw, he reached out and pulled the door shut. He glaced at the lock, then back to me. Summoning what energy I had left, I rose to my feet and slowly made it to the last cage and secured the lock. He had not moved, even to lie down. He just kept watching me intently.
My knees gave. Grappling for a bar to hold, I managed to not fall, but I did crack my forehead on a bar. The wolf was suddenly right there, licking my hand and my head. He whimpered again and looked past me to the cellar doors and back to me. No one was there; he just wanted me to go. I began crawling across the cold concrete floor.
At the base of the steps I looked up—only eight of them, but I knew I couldn’t do it. One at a time, I told myself. If it takes all night, just climb one at a time. I worked my hands up to the third step and put my knee on the first. The last thing I remembered was hearing the lonely howl of a wolf.
* * *
Amenemhab sat on my couch in the living room. He looked around, panting, but seemed to like what he saw. I lay on the floor, watching him. “Well?” I said. “What do you think of my home?”
“This isn’t your home,” he said. “This is just where you live.”
I laughed. “Same thing.”
“No.”
My eyes shot open and I sat up all at once, the dream fading.
I was on the couch in my living room. Nana lay sprawled in the chair with an afghan over her, snoring loudly. Something hurt, but I couldn’t tell exactly what. My head did hurt, but there was something else too. Something that wasn’t my back or my feet, or anything like that. It was weird.
I swung my feet around to the floor and the movement flaked the dried blood on my chest. I realized I was in my robe and jeans still, and with that knowledge, flashbacks to being in the circle hit me hard.
That was what hurt—my soul.
Angry and afraid, I got up and started upstairs to the bathroom. I had to shower this blood—this vampire’s blood—off of me. Right now.
Stripping off the robe in the bathroom, I noticed the moonstone necklace was gone. I hoped I hadn’t lost it or broken it. I would worry about that later. Now, the shower.
The warm water felt so good, like I’d just noticed how good a shower could be. But I didn’t want to scrub the blood off me, I didn’t want to touch it. So, I stood there and let the steamy water loosen it and wash it away. Only then did I use the soap and scrub, and only then did I begin to feel like myself.
That asshole! I should’ve known better than to trust a vampire. I have honored my oath to you, Persephone Alcmedi. Yeah, right. A shiver coursed through me as I remembered his words, his voice, the feel of his breath on my skin. Angry, I squeezed the soap hard enough to leave marks in it. How dare he use me like that, play me for a fool. Hadn’t I been played enough by Vivian?
I wondered what he’d done to her, but decided I was probably better off not knowing.
At least Theo would be all right.
Wrapped in a towel, I tiptoed to my room so as not to disturb Beverley—I could hear her soft snore in the other bedroom. I wondered if the doc had stayed. I hadn’t seen him, but I assumed he had been the one to bring me inside.
The mess in my room devastated me. Clothes the wolves had been wearing lay in ripped and distorted piles. My bed was a complete disaster.
Turning my back on the wrecked room, I went to the closet and picked a navy blue sweat suit with loose ankles and stripes down the legs that matched the stripes on the long sleeves. With a white tank top under the jacket and the hood adjusted flat, I was set. I grabbed a second sweat suit for Theo and carried it up the steps to the attic. There, I took clothes from Celia’s and Erik’s suitcases and returned to the first floor, where I set the clothes aside and unzipped Johnny’s suitcase. The smell of him hit me hard. I held his shirt up to my face and inhaled the cedar and sage scent of him and Gain detergent. I added the shirt to the pile, rummaged for a pair of underwear, didn’t find any, and took a pair of jeans anyway. It didn’t seem that Johnny owned any undies. I blushed at the thought.
Leaving the living room where Nana was still snoring, I went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee while I grabbed up all the cookies and doughnuts I could find—and it wasn’t many. We hadn’t planned on four wærewolves transforming. Breakfast might get ugly.
Carrying all this and the set of keys for the locks, I went outside and headed for the storm cellar. After shuffling everything into one arm, I opened the cellar doors and quietly descended. I left the light off; I wanted wæres to sleep all they wished, but to find their things ready for them when they woke.
&
nbsp; I put everything on the floor and sorted it out. I unlocked the first cage, the one I could see clearly in the ambient light. Celia and Erik were sweetly spooned together, naked on the hay. I put their clothes and a baggie containing some doughnuts and a biscotto on top. Erik loved biscotti.
Before unlocking the second cage, I stood staring at Theo. She was curled into the fetal position, her shoulder rising and falling with regular breaths. She was alive, and I thanked the Goddess for it.
I left her the sweat suit and a baggie containing some cookies. She didn’t like biscotti, but I knew she did like nuts, so I set a half-filled can of salted peanuts atop the suit. They were Nana’s, but I’d buy Nana some more.
As I turned to Johnny’s cage, I couldn’t help lifting his shirt to my face again and taking in the scent of him.
“I didn’t know you could sing, Red.”
I dropped the cage keys with a jerk. It was darker back here in the mornings; the light just wasn’t strong enough. I’d expected him to be sleeping too, and I’d just been caught sniffing his shirt. I blinked into the darkness, willing my eyes to adjust. He was sitting in the corner closest to the cage door, one knee bent up to be modest. There was a tattoo on his thigh, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
“You weren’t all supposed to change,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Yes, I do.” I passed the clothes through the bars, a baggie of Oreos on top. He set them to the side. “Menessos manipulated the ritual and took over. He wielded power a vampire just shouldn’t possess, and I couldn’t stop him.”
Johnny stayed quiet and just watched me, like the wolf had last night. Then he said, “He marked you.”
“I know.” My voice trembled. Tears welled in my eyes. To deny them, I snorted and tried to be cool about it. “He lied. Fucker.” I glanced toward Theo. “At least she’s alive.” If Johnny was going to see me cry—me who he was convinced was this tough Lustrata—then I wanted him to think I was crying because Theo was okay.
Vicious Circle Page 22
